‘No we’re not,’ said Felicite. The driver laughed.

Mary knew Brussels sufficiently to identify the Cathedrale de St Michel. She said: ‘This isn’t the way to the embassy!’

Momentarily Felicite hesitated, off balance, aware of Cool’s startled look in the rearview mirror. She said: ‘We’re not going to the embassy.’

‘Where then?’ demanded the child.

‘You’re going on an adventure,’ promised the woman, prepared for the question.

The driver pressed the central locking system and the buttons on all the doors clicked down, even though the rear-door child-locks were already in place, disabling the handles.

‘What sort of adventure?’ demanded Mary. This woman wasn’t as respectful to her as Bill was: she’d tell dad.

‘Wait and see.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘You don’t have a choice.’

At that moment the second security man in the backup collection vehicle reported to the American embassy on the Boulevard du Regent that Mary had vanished. And the panic began in the office suite of the United States’ ambassador to Belgium, James McBride.

CHAPTER TWO

They usually got frightened during a drive as long as this, crying, wetting themselves. Hysterical. But this one didn’t. Rather, she was defiantly unafraid – arrogantly unafraid – and Felicite, a constant seeker for anything new, anything not tried before, was excited. Would the child fight, later? None of the others had ever tried, not seriously. Hysteria gave way to cowed, bewildered acceptance: submissive apathy. Boring. It really would be exciting if this one fought back. Defied them. She was small, maybe no older than eight, although that would have been very young to be walking by herself. The prime requirement, to be as young as possible: young but aware.